Sidney’s daughterwas an endless source of amazement to him. She was capable of astounding alchemy, turning even the most mundane act into something tremendous. In all the years Cagney House had been his London home, he had ventured into the small parterre garden only a few times, and never without a drink in hand.
But today, the urge to take the air and show Emily the flowers had been too strong to ignore. He had liberated her from the nursery with the intent of spending some time with her sans the watchful eye of her nurse, who tended to hover about as if she feared he would not take proper care of his daughter. He was more than capable, damn her.
He smiled as Emily made her way down the gravel path toward a clump of daisies along the sculpted boxwood hedges. She plucked one blossom, crumpling it in her fist as she made sounds of unabashed delight.
“Daisy,” he told her. “Can you say daisy?”
He enjoyed teaching Emily new words. He also enjoyed irritating Julianna by doing so. Therefore, he was doubly rewarded with each new sound she made.
“Pa!” Emily exclaimed, grinning.
Christ, she was adorable. Brimming with vibrancy and energy, her eyes so big in her round little face. He had never been so proud of any accomplishment in his life. This girl—his daughter—was the best thing Sidney had ever done, and he knew it.
She raised her fist and stuffed the flower into her mouth. Petals protruded from her lips, rather reminiscent of bird feathers from the mouth of a guilty cat.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, starting forward, forgetting his vow to refrain from using oaths around his daughter. “You mustn’t eat the daisies, poppet.”
Emily chewed. “Bub, bub!”
He hastened to his knees on the gravel before her, captured her small chin in one hand, and swiped inside her mouth with two fingers, removing the wilted, saliva-coated flower.
“What in heaven’s name is going on?”
Julianna’s sharp query rang through the pleasant stillness of the garden.
Of course she would have chosen this precise moment, of all moments, to return from her Lady’s Suffrage Society meeting and find him removing a bedraggled daisy from their daughter’s mouth.
Sidney ignored her, instead extracting a handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiping the macerated blossom on it before making another sweep of Emily’s mouth to make certain he had not missed any petals. His search yielded an additional white sliver of flower.
Emily frowned at him and then her entire face screwed up. Tears welled in her green eyes.Damn, it broke his heart. Broke it so much he almost offered the daisy to her.
“Shelbourne!” Julianna snapped, arriving at his side in a rustle of violet skirts. “What was in her mouth? Why is she crying?”
Hell.
“Don’t cry, poppet.” He used the dry portion of his handkerchief to dab at Emily’s cheeks. “Papa will find you something better than the daisy to eat.”
“She waseatinga daisy?” Piercing him with a dagger glare, Julianna whisked their daughter into her arms. “That could make her terribly ill. Were you not watching her?”
He already felt like a villain for making Emily cry—though he’d possessed an excellent reason for doing so. Julianna’s insinuation stung. He rose to his full height, facing her as she clutched their daughter to her in a protective embrace, as if she feared he would steal her away and throw her into a cage of ravenous lions. Of course she would think the worst of him.
And of course she would be so beautiful this afternoon that the sight of her was like a fist to the gut. She was Julianna. When was she not beautiful?
“I was watching her,” he defended himself, rubbing his jaw in an effort to quell some of his irritation. “One moment she was admiring the daisies, and the next she had decided to make one into her luncheon. I removed it before she could swallow it.”
That had to count for something. Who knew children would attempt to eat anything that would fit into their tiny fists? He had rather thought consuming everything in sight was the business of goats, but Emily had just proven otherwise.
“You made her cry,” Julianna accused, murmuring something soothing into Emily’s ear and rubbing her back.
And his heart still hurt.
But that was none of this heartless witch’s concern. She would hardly understand.
“She cried because I took the flower from her mouth. Apparently she was hell-bent upon eating the damned thing and I thwarted her goal.”
“Shelbourne, we have spoken about your language.”
Yes, they had. He had also reached the conclusion that he liked his wife much better when she was kissing him instead of berating him.
